


Playing Doctor

by Arsenic



Category: The Turner Series - Cat Sebastian
Genre: Canon Relationships, Chronic Illness, Gen, M/M, Malaria, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Julian's flippancy about the malaria drives Courtenay mad.
Relationships: Lord Courtenay/Julian Medlock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	Playing Doctor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenThreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/gifts).



> Recip: this...probably was not what you meant by your request, but it was the idea that really spoke to me, so I hope it's at least a tiny bit fun for you, as a treat. I had a really enjoyable time writing it.

They got into a screaming match over a holiday to Spain, of all things. When Courtenay was explaining it to Eleanor over tea, he found the root of the issue: “He’s so terribly flippant about his health. It’s as if he can’t begin to imagine how I would feel if he were to relapse and—and not recover.”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, that’s not it. It’s that if he made the illness a centerpiece of his life, he would be consumed by it. He chose a different path, and sometimes that makes him a bit dismissive when he probably should not be.”

Courtenay closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Opening his eyes, he said, “It feels unfair to be alone in my fear on this particular subject.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’ve taught you everything you need to know about treating him. My methods have never failed.”

“How long did it take you to become so calm about it?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

Courtenay tilted his head. “All right, what’s the correct question?”

“How long did it take me to learn to _act_ as though I was calm about it?”

“Well,” Courtenay sighed. “That’s disheartening.”

* * *

Georgie was making his way back to the main house when Courtenay arrived back home. He dismounted from the horse Julian had bought him the prior summer and said, “Turner.”

“Courtenay,” Georgie said, smiling. Once you got past Georgie’s defensive barriers, so long as you weren’t threatening him or his, he was a hard man to dislike.

“Should I stay in the stall with Ista this evening?” he asked. Ista nipped at his hair hearing her name.

“Only if you want him more certain you’re going to leave him for someone with robust health and less of an obsession with commodities trading.”

Courtenay wasn’t certain what Julian’s business pursuits had to do with anything, but Julian could get self-conscious about nearly anything given enough time to consider. “His health is not an inconvenience.”

“No, I tried explaining. After all, I am the illicit paramour of the Mad Duke.”

“But?”

Georgie grimaced. “Well, you’re a bit glamorous, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re trying to tell me.”

Georgie licked his lips. “Julian, he’s like me, only with better pedigree, yes? He keeps his head down, blends in, uses his skills to make sure he stays with the current, doesn’t get swept under. He never lets his brilliance be too known lest that make it less useful to him. He makes certain as best he can that nobody has strong feelings about him. Julian is a tool sharpened by his own edges.” He shrugged. “You, though, you’re the dashing anti-hero. It’s hard to believe that someone like you can be held onto.”

“He’s one of the most clever men on the entire continent,” Courtenay said, feeling as though he understood all of Georgie’s words, but couldn’t quite bring them together in a form that made any logical sense. “He’s…he’s my very favorite person.”

“Well, of course. He just has to be reminded of that sometimes.”

Courtenay pursed his lips. “Right. My appreciation.”

Georgie’s smile was just a touch off. “You can return the favor the next time I am entirely certain Lawrence could do better than some piece of London riff-raff.”

Courtenay gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I believe I’ll do just that.”

* * *

Julian was sitting at his desk, looking for all the world as though he were working. Courtenay, though, had long learned to see the signs otherwise. The way Julian’s left hand would stray as if to grab a paper, but never actually pick anything up, the way his pen occasionally trailed along, the stiffness of his spine. Softly, Courtenay said, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m quite sure nearly anyone would tell you that is meant to be my sentiment.”

“And you would be the first to know how wrong everyone can be.”

Julian finally looked up at that. He blinked. “You saw Georgie.”

“Clever young man. I only know of one who surpasses him, really.”

“Courtenay.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel as if you are somehow an inconvenience. I was trying…” Courtenay crossed into the room. “I think, in some ways, the terror of losing Isabella has burned itself into me. When you become ill—I cannot _breathe_ for my own fear, Julian. I need, for all the world, to know that you will be well again. You, having lived it so many times, seem effortlessly confident of that. I cannot manage such ease.”

Julian stood and walked to where he was within touching distance. “When I was a child, the first few times, it—I was convinced I would die, sweating and miserable and leaving Eleanor alone for all intents and purposes. I told myself that so long as I believed hard enough, that I could will myself to stay alive for her. In truth, I know it was the quinine and having active medical care, but it is as if my brain still thinks that should I flinch away from my certainty for one instance—” Julian shook his head. “So you see, it is a foolish matter of survival.”

“I see,” Courtenay parroted, bringing his hand to cup Julian’s cheek. “Please continue in such foolishness.”

Julian pressed into the hand. “You…I shall not fuss, if you wish to practice an excess of caution in these matters.”

“It would help. But I would not have you feeling as though I do not believe you are competent to take care of yourself. I am not unaware that most days you take care of both of us.”

Julian smiled, pressing a kiss into Courtenay’s palm. “I shan’t mind a bit of…that is, I rather like seeing evidence that you care.”

Without hesitation, Courtenay said, “I care.”


End file.
